Page 30 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

ELIA

Billings was always a sight to see on auction day.

With fall nearly over, the cattle market buzzed with life—the hum of cattle lowing, auctioneers calling out bids, and ranchers talking shop.

I’d been coming here since I was a boy, but every trip felt like a reminder of just how massive Montana’s cattle industry really was.

Hank and I were here to sell some of our stock while Logan and his crew were busy managing his own herd.

The Billings market was a well-oiled machine.

Buyers and sellers moved between pens, checking out the cattle and eyeing up potential bids.

Auctions like this didn’t just happen in one big room.

They were staged throughout the day and organized into lots.

Cattle were divided by weight, breed, and age, and each lot was auctioned off at lightning speed by auctioneers who spoke faster than a prairie wind.

Hank and I were standing by our lot, watching the buyers assess the herd. Hank leaned over, keeping a close eye on the potential bidders.

“Think we’ll fetch a good price today?” Hank asked, squinting as a man walked by and took notes on our cattle.

I smirked. “Better. I’ve got a feeling.”

Logan showed up a few minutes later, looking as confident as ever. He slapped me on the back. “Ready to lose that bet, El?”

“You’re dreaming, Log.”

Logan’s herd was no joke. He raised good cattle, just like we did, but there was always a bit of friendly rivalry between us.

Today, the bet was simple: Who could get the best price for their cattle?

Logan had been mouthing off all week, saying he’d take home the gold this time. But I wasn’t worried.

When the bidding for our cattle started, I felt the adrenaline kick in. The auctioneer rattled off numbers, and before I knew it, our lot was climbing higher and higher. Hank gave me a nod of approval as the price rose, and by the time the hammer dropped, we’d sold for more than I’d anticipated.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Hank muttered. “That’s a hell of a deal.”

“Not bad,” I said, hiding my satisfaction.

Logan’s turn came next. His lot sold well, but not enough to beat ours. The auctioneer’s voice crackled as the bids came in slower than he’d hoped. Logan shot me a look as the final price was announced. He didn’t have to say anything—I knew I’d won.

“All right, all right,” Logan laughed, shaking his head. “You got me this time, El. But hey, I still earned a good chunk of change, so I’m not complaining.”

By the end of the day, we were both feeling pretty damn good. Cattle sold, wallets full, and the market began to quiet down.

As we loaded up and prepared to head back to Buffaloberry Hill, Logan leaned against his truck, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You know,” he started, “you should’ve sold Diesel. Hell, he’d make some buyer’s day.”

“That ornery old bastard? Not a chance. He’s got a good life at The Lazy Moose.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Well, with all the calves he’s fathered, I bet he’s keeping your lady cows real happy.”

I laughed outright, the image of Diesel strutting around like he owned the place flashing in my mind. “Yeah, well, he’s earned his crown. The man knows how to handle his ladies; I’ll give him that.”

Logan shook his head, still grinning. “You better be careful, El. He might start thinking he’s the real boss around there.”

“Trust me, he already thinks that,” I said, chuckling. “But as long as he keeps fathering strong calves, he can have his little fantasy.”

Then Log exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back. “Hey, I’ve gotta tell you something, man.” His tone dropped.

I forced a laugh, trying to steer clear of his sudden mood change. “Come on, don’t ruin the day. Your face looks like a vampire after a merry-go-round ride.”

“Sorry, man, but I’ve gotta tell you this,” he insisted, not taking the bait.

“Spill it.”

Log hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck like he was about to unload a whole hay bale’s worth of trouble. “My wife noticed something the other night. Claire’s driver’s license. It was expired.”

He must’ve gotten a copy when she signed the lease for The Willow. I shrugged it off. “So what? Happens to the best of us. Hell, mine was expired for two months before Hank dragged me to the DMV.”

But Log didn’t crack a smile. I could see in his eyes that this wasn’t some casual observation. Something was off.

“Yeah, but that’s not it, El. There was something else we noticed. The photo—it looked like her, sure, but…not really.”

“What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

He grimaced. “Honestly? It’s not her, man. It’s someone else’s picture.”

Tension built under my skin. “You got a copy?”

“Not with me. But El, I’m telling you because I care, all right? I know you and Claire are tight, and I love her too, man. But…you’ve got to ask her. Something isn’t adding up.”

I already knew Claire had secrets. We both knew it. But this…this was different. Log wasn’t the type to meddle in my business without good reason.

“Or you know,” Log added carefully, “searches are easy these days.”

“What the hell are you getting at?” I asked, my voice strained.

He looked away, guilt etched into his features. “I’m telling you this because you’re my best friend. Claire isn’t who she says she is.”

The back of my neck prickled. “Fuck, Log. What are you trying to do to me?” My voice cracked, betraying the fear I was holding back.

He sighed, his voice dropping even lower. “Clare Ashbourne—the name on her license…that woman died years ago.”

Everything stopped, the world tipping sideways. That was why she had kept her hair brunette, hiding her natural blonde, because she had to look like this woman—Clare Ashbourne.

He kept going mercilessly. “Her father, Dr. Rick Ashbourne, a veterinarian, was murdered last year.”

I couldn’t breathe. “Were they from New York?”

Log nodded. “Yeah, and apparently, that murder was linked to an unsolved massacre in Brentwood, right outside the city. The sister of one of the victims managed to flee the scene. The cops didn’t know who killed who.

It was a damn mess, some New York gangster fallout.

But they knew at least one of the victims had been killed by a gun that didn’t belong to anyone left at the scene. And a hundred grand was missing.”

“Shit, man!” I barely managed to speak, my head spinning. “And Clare Ashbourne…was she murdered, too?”

“No. She died in a car accident. Her asshole boyfriend was drunk. She did move to Chicago as her driver’s license said, but she died in New York.”

My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Everything blurred together like oil spreading across muddy water—dark on dark, toxic on dirty. “The missing sister…what was her name?”

“Claire Magnussen.”

The name sounded foreign, turning the woman I knew into someone completely different. I nodded, still grappling with the shock of the revelation. “And her brother…don’t tell me Cody Magnussen was one of the victims in that massacre.”

Log gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah, he was.”

What the hell was I supposed to do? Claire wasn’t some fantasy—she was real. Imperfect, and yet I loved every bit of it. My mistake wasn’t in loving her. It was in not asking the right questions.

Hell, I bought a brand new mattress, hoping she’d stay over more. Not for me. I’d slept on that half-lumpy thing for years. But for her? I wanted it to be comfortable for both of us. And tonight, I was going to surprise her.

Frustration boiled over, and I walked away from Logan to kick the tire of my truck.

“El! El!” Log was right behind me, calling out. “Man, just take a breath. Let it settle. Don’t do anything rash. Talk to her. Ask her, man.”

But I wasn’t sure if I had the patience to hear her out.

She’d had plenty of chances to come clean.

I thought we had something solid enough for honesty.

Her secrets weren’t just a new name and a fresh persona or some guy chasing her down.

She’d hinted at trouble with her brother, sure, but she failed to mention the murders she’d committed.

And if she had a reason, she damn well knew I would’ve listened.

Now, even if she told me everything…could I believe her?